Shadows at Dawn
by Chernika
Summary: Some things are best forgotten. But when he has to accompany Terra and Locke to Thamasa, Shadow is forced to face his innermost demons. A take on the first meeting with Strago and Relm in FFVI from Shadow's perspective.
1. Pillars of Sand

**A.N:** In my opinion, Shadow's story is one of the most poignant things that FFVI has to offer. The choices he made, the amount of pain and effort it took to live with the consequences: I always found it both horrifying and fascinating at the same time. The first in-game visit to Thamasa must have been a crystallization of all these things, which is why I decided to look at it from Shadow's perspective. It was a little hard to find his voice, but hopefully that worked out. Needless to say, there are massive spoilers here for anyone who hasn't finished the game/seen any of Shadow's dreams.

* * *

**_Pillars of Sand_**

He didn't remember the village being this small. Little backwater place, averse to change, suspicious of strangers; he'd figured it out the very first time he came here. And yet, it was as if he only realized now just how tiny it was. Almost like an assortment of toy houses. Maybe it was the time he had spent away, the added distance, perspective, or whatever else. One thing he was certain of, however: he'd never wanted to come back.

"Shadow?"

The broken chime of Terra's voice made him start ever so slightly. Both she and Locke were observing him inquisitively.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, and her tone was puzzled.

It was only natural. Shadow, the epitome of indifference, the heartless, stoic mercenary had hesitated. Only for a few seconds. But it was enough for Terra. The girl was attuned to pain; she responded to it like a plant responds to sunlight, and immediately sent out soft tendrils of compassion; he knew it. He also knew that this was a quality. He knew that she meant well. He knew that he should be grateful. Knowing rather than feeling. A protective barrier of logic and reason. It had been that way ever since that day, six years ago, when he disappeared into the morning mist, insistently trying to silence the scream inside his head.

_"Clyde! How could you!?"_

The voice echoed faintly through his mind. He knew that if he let it, it would sweep over his brain in waves upon waves of sickening fear and choking, blinding guilt. And in their wake, the panicked, indignant look of a pair of brown eyes. He knew all too well what it felt like, he'd been through this too many times in the past. And he didn't want to let the images back in again. It was enough to have left him to die once.

"Lead on," and his voice was as flat as usual.

A question flickered in Terra's eyes, but she also had an innate sense of tact. She wouldn't pry. And that was all he needed.

Houses, street corners, flowerbeds…so much that he still remembered. The sign above the shop's entrance with its squeaky, rusty hinges and chipped off corner, the geraniums that almost enveloped the mayor's house, the large one-eyed tabby always sitting on Mrs Sedora's window-sill. He registered as incongruous that the cat was still alive. Not enough to be called surprise though.

What troubled him the most were the faces. He knew every single one, apart from those of the youngest children.

(There goes Jayla; seems she has a son now...Old Mr Pfeil still nattering on to Granny Ezma about the good old days...Leri, the mayor's daughter, grown tall and healthy…The mayor himself, Mr Fraz…I wasn't aware he could become any fatter...Nefir, the carpenter, with his freckled face…)

The only way they could recognize him, beneath his pitch-black outfit, would be if they recognized Interceptor. But the large, agile pinscher looked nothing like the clumsy little puppy that had followed him when he left on that morning. Logic told him he had nothing to fear. Knowledge of Thamasa's customs told him that the ambient distrust they met with, as people stopped at street corners to watch them pass by, was the usual treatment reserved for outsiders. Yet he was uneasy. It wasn't too big of a stretch to take the wary stares personally. Something unnameable started clawing from deep inside him at the wall he had built to ward off his past, trying to make it crumble, disintegrate into a mound of rubble.

"Sheesh," Locke glanced around them, disbelief on his sharp face, "talk about a warm welcome…"

Terra looked thoughtful and slightly confused. Ever since they entered the village, she'd been attentive, as if trying to spot or to hear something. Knowing what she was, he wouldn't have been surprised if she were able to feel that the inhabitants were all mages. Mages who were desperately trying to hide from unwanted Imperial attention.

But then his mind turned blank. The house. They were right in front of it. Somehow, out of all the possible places they could have gone to, Terra and Locke had picked out this one. It looked unremarkable enough. Perhaps it was the fact that no one stared out of its windows at them. Perhaps…

_"Clyde…"_

The whisper sounded so close to his ear that he couldn't help but start and hurriedly cast a glance around him to check if anybody had noticed. He was aware that it was just his memory, but he couldn't help it. They were too close. Too close to the past, too close to all that blood, to those blind, senseless days spent in a semi-stupor of self-recrimination.

"Let's try asking here."

Terra confirmed their destination by moving towards the building. And then it hit him.

(Old man Magus, of course…the most respected and skilled warlock of the village. She _does _sense the magical power, doesn't she?)

There was the green door, the worn stone steps leading up to it, the wild rosebush growing under the sitting-room window…He remembered it all, it all came crowding back with the unpleasant inevitability of a nightmare. He could almost see himself as he was back then, sitting on these same steps, gazing vacantly into the distance.

_"Clyde, what's wrong? You've barely said a word all day. I know you don't like talking, but this is creeping me out."_

A different voice now. It bit at his insides just as much as the first one. She would sit next to him and run her fingers through his hair, trying to coax a wan smile out of him. She could sense that something tortured him, even though he refused to tell her what it was. She knew that he didn't love her and that he stayed on only because he had drifted here and had nowhere else to go. But she didn't care, and he didn't quite have the heart to destroy her oddly lucid illusion. It didn't help with the guilt though. Only added to the headcount.

Terra's knock was answered by a "come in" in yet another painfully familiar voice. The door swung open.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, it seemed as if all the shadows that had populated his slice of life in this place came crowding back into the small room. The house itself hadn't changed at all. The same old, tattered furniture. The same lopsided bookshelf, with its spell tomes camouflaged as recipe and gardening books. Iris' picture still hanging over the mantelpiece…

"_So what's your name, handsome?"_

"_How bad is it? This isn't m-my blood...is it, Clyde?"_

It was getting very hard to concentrate. The voices were growing closer, more insistent, and he wasn't used to forcibly keeping them at bay anymore. He hung back, trying to ignore the steady drone in his mind, and to focus on their host instead.

The little old man was much the same as he remembered him. Only somehow more…withered. His face was like a rock, carved and eroded by persistent little rivulets, unforgiving emissaries of time. His stringy white hair had thinned out noticeably. His diminutive, crabbed frame seemed to have grown even smaller. As if something had worn him down over the years. Something weighing on his shoulders, a tired and heavy reflection in his watery blue eyes.

(I took your only daughter, old man. I took her, and I didn't stop to think about it. Just as I didn't stop to think before I ran from that river bank with his curse ringing in my ears…)

"_Come back, you selfish coward! You can't leave me like this!"_

At this point, he had to repress a frank shudder.

(Baram…I couldn't. You knew I couldn't.)

Fear. Cowardice. Shame. A bottomless ocean of shame that would smother and crush him under its weight. He would remain prostrate for hours on end, or mechanically go through the required minimum of daily motions. And even though she smelled of strawberries and vanilla, and the flood of her red hair on a pillow was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he barely noticed. Not even when…

"_Clyde, we're going to have a baby."_


	2. Knives Out

**A.N:** Here we go: the centerpiece of the episode. Shadow's reaction to Relm, and a much more alert Strago than we're given to see in the game. I've kept the original dialogue (based on the GBA version) where applicable, with some additions where necessary (such as Terra's explanation of their visit). I'm assuming Relm's mother died in childbirth, since there's no information on the subject. Also, based on Relm's dream in the game, she was old enough to be able to speak when Shadow left, so I made him stick around for four years before giving up.

* * *

**_Knives Out_**

"Good day, everyone," Strago greeted them, putting on a welcoming face, "what brings you folks to see me?"

But despite the conciliatory words, Shadow could see his washed-out blue gaze attentively lingering over each of them in turn. A cursory overview of Locke; nothing threatening in his appearance. A prolonged scrutiny of Terra, which was only natural. Her magical aura must have been the equivalent of bright sunlight to the old man. And, eventually, a wary glance in his direction, which probably did nothing to reassure him. Trying to look as casual as possible, he took a few steps back towards the door behind him. Shadow remembered that it led to the second floor.

(Protective instincts at work. He has no reason to trust us. I wouldn't either, if I were him.)

"_I'm sorry...I...I let my guard down..."_

"_Dad, this is Clyde. I found him like this, wandering around the square. He needs our help."_

"_Leave me here. I'd only slow you down."_

The voices were louder now, and starting to acquire a coherence of their own. The shadows that accompanied them were also shaping into ever more distinct images. His mind seemed to be groping around his aural surroundings, trying to latch onto something that would lead him out of the maze that was congregating around him.

Terra's voice. Her words breaking, shattering as they left her mouth, like a detuned music box.

"Good day to you, sir. We apologize for the disturbance, but we passed this town on our way, and we were wondering if you could give us some information."

And the look she directed at Strago was almost as inquisitive as the one he directed at her.

"Very well, child. I'm listening."

She tried to explain their situation as concisely as she could.

"Some Espers have escaped from their world. They've destroyed Vector, and have been seen flying in this direction. We're part of the Resistance, and we've managed to bargain for a truce with the Empire. It's crucial that we find a way to pacify them. Do you know where they could be?"

"_Clyde, calm down. It was only a nightmare..."_

And then the old man made a mistake.

"Espers, eh? Hmm…haven't heard that word in years…"

Locke immediately put a foot in the proverbial door.

"So you know about Espers?"

Strago's face was almost painful to see.

"Nope, can't say I do!" he blurted out hurriedly, "don't know a thing. Not one thing! Just a word I must've heard somewhere..."

His last words trailed off into a mutter, as if he were trying to recall a trifling detail. Shadow smirked quietly. Terra and Locke exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Something's fishy here..." he mumbled at her, as discreetly as possible.

At this point, the conversation inevitably flagged, removing Shadow's best hope of a distraction. The cacophony he was attempting to keep at bay rose up from the depths of his memory with redoubled intensity, the two dreaded voices stirring up a whirlpool of curses and pleas in his ears.

"_And you're sure that you don't want to tell me what's bothering you?"_

"_We'll be famous, I tell you!" _

"_You know what? I don't care why you're here, but you are. Why not at least attempt to have a normal life?"_

"_I'm done for...__"_

"_You don't…No, never mind, I don't want to know."_

"_You know what they'll do to me if they catch me alive! I don't want to have to go through that..._

"_Stay with me."_

"_Bloody coward...__You're a murderer…whatever you do now. Can't you…at least try to…feel pity?"_

There was something else too, insistently trying to break through this white noise. Something was missing, something he should know about, something he had been aware of just a moment or so earlier. Something...or someone...

It didn't take long for him to remember.

"Grandpa!"

The chirpy little voice burrowed into his brain, and almost immediately, his memory supplied a soul-shattering shriek to go with it. That scream, coming through a closed door. It had frozen him to the marrow of his bones. Any other sound paled by comparison. Even the cries of the baby that followed immediately after it.

Strago had to step away from the door he was guarding. A patter of small feet was heard scurrying down some stairs, and only a moment later, a little girl came bounding out. A skinny child, with thin features and immense blue eyes. Her face was framed by a wild mass of strawberry blonde curls, with a little motley beret precariously balanced on top of it. The rest of her blurred away into the multicoloured haze of her clothing. But the face stood out. The face cut into his retina.

(She looks…so much like her mother. I had forgotten...)

The little girl had obviously decided to come see what the commotion was for herself. She proceeded to gawk at each of them in turn, an earnest, candid ogle that he couldn't quite confront. He averted his eyes.

"Relm!"

Strago looked intensely worried, but the child stoutly ignored his concern.

(Relm…He would pester me to find her a name. For a whole week, he nagged and nagged. It was probably his way of coping with loss. He never did take to me, in any case. Probably the only one who wasn't fooled. He knew I couldn't. And yet he asked. He said "give your daughter a name, the child needs a name"…

Child…Daughter…My daughter…It sounds so odd…As if it never could've happened to me. And yet it did. For four years. And I knew it didn't make sense. Wrong person. I couldn't…)

"_Just try…"_

"_...murderer..."_

He could almost have winced under her stare. She was so alien to everything he felt and knew: a small, unruly, disrespectful being taking unwitting revenge on him for briskly walking off into the morning mist that day, followed by the insistent barks of a small pinscher puppy.

The little girl's curiosity seemed very much piqued, especially by the fact that he obstinately kept his eyes nailed to the threadbare carpet on the floor. But he knew that Strago had painstakingly inculcated her with rudiments of prudence; he had started as soon as she was able to understand. And some of it had obviously managed to stick. Rather than addressing him directly, she bounded over to the old man and tugged insistently at his cloak.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing, little missy?"

"Grandpa, who are they? Are they friends? Can they use magic too?"

Strago's face underwent another painful transformation. She had just slammed into his ramshackle little lie and sent it flying in all directions.

"Sh-shush! That's..." he attempted, but the child's flighty attention took another cavort.

"Oooo! What a cute doggie!"

She scurried towards Interceptor, motioning excitedly to the large animal to come closer.

"Back off. He bites."

He wasn't sure that he'd intended to sound so brusque. Or that he'd planned to take a step closer. But he was only trying to forestall the inevitable. He knew the dog wouldn't bite. It wasn't planning on even snarling at the child, happily letting her pet it instead. And now the game was up.

Strago's pallid eyes immediately latched onto him and turned cold. He had recognized his voice.

"Relm, go back to your room," he said, and there was a menacing note in his words.

The child disapproved of this.

"Why do I have to go to my room? You never let me have any fun!" and her voice rose to an unpleasant pitch.

But the old man stood his ground.

"Because I said so. Now shoo!"

For a moment, she looked intensely upset. But then a glint came to her eye.

"Fine," she retorted smugly.

She made for the stairs, but gestured to Interceptor in the process.

The dog followed. This much, Shadow didn't expect. Something sank in his chest; it felt like a desertion. It didn't help that Strago chose to comment on it, striking where it hurt with pinpoint precision.

"Oh dear...She seems to have taken a liking to your dog."

And despite the anodyne remark, there was a malicious streak in his voice.

The little girl slammed the door shut with a triumphant "hmph!". Immediately relieved of attention on that particular event, Strago resumed his icy glare.

"That child..." he began.

His tone was nondescript enough that almost anything could have followed. Shadow felt his hands go numb.

(He wouldn't...)

_"Touch my arm. Feel it shaking? I've never been afraid in my life, and now I'm quivering like a little girl."_

But the old man forbore. Out of a sense of natural dignity, perhaps. Some kind of magnanimity for his victim.

"My apologies," came in a tone which clearly signified that he had nothing to apologize for.

As opposed to others.

Shadow had no choice but to play along, part of him basely grateful that a confrontation had been avoided.

"It's fine. He usually doesn't like other people though."

He vaguely registered that the additional remark was a mistake. Instead of glossing over the incident, he was making it even more suspect. But the hubbub inside his head was starting to skew his perceptions.

"_I trusted you…"_

"_Clyde, I wish you and dad would get along. I know he can be a stubborn old fool, but you have to try…for my sake."_

(For your sake…You stopped believing your own words the instant they left your mouth. You were just another shadow in my life. One that keeps haunting me now, but still a shadow. Perhaps I would have cared and I would have tried, under different circumstances, but…)

He suddenly noticed Locke and Terra, standing by in helpless bewilderment. Some part of him managed to register the situation as mildly amusing.

(You two really had no idea of what you were getting yourself into when you opened that door…

Look at this. Even the dog can relate to her better than I can. What kind of father am I supposed to be after this? No, this is not my role. I've blundered into it, and it's my fault. That much I admit, and I'm willing to do penance for it, but…I can't set anything right.)

Strago seemed to be of the same opinion, as he decided to cut the torture short. He addressed Locke and Terra, all the while still boring holes in him with his eyes.

"_Clyde, please…look at me…"_

"Anyhow...I'm terribly sorry, but I really don't think I can be of any help to you, folks."

"I, uh...I see," Locke stammered out, nonplussed.

"We're just your ordinary, quiet little village..." the old man continued, in a would-be light-hearted tone, "you're not going to find anyone who knows about any of those Esper things here, I'm afraid! Not in Thamasa!"

He took a few steps forward, as he spoke, as if to urge them out the door. Shadow noticed Locke slipping a whisper to Terra as they made for the exit. She nodded in return. Probably something to the effect of having a look around the place anyway. Strago's words couldn't have anything but their opposite effect: anyone who had proper use of their eyes would be able see that he was lying through his teeth.

"Thanks for your time!"

Locke took his leave with an innocuous smile, and a glance back at Shadow. The lies on their own were nothing compared to Strago's glares. He knew they would ask themselves questions. But he was not about to divulge any information.

"Interceptor!" he called, hanging back a few steps behind.

There was a bustle above their heads. Footsteps descended the stairs, and the door opened. Interceptor seemed to hesitate for a moment, but eventually complied. And Shadow had the distinct, foolish impression that he was being judged by his own dog.

The child appeared from behind the door in a halo of curls to wave goodbye to her ephemeral playmate, before promptly making her way back upstairs. She didn't have a single parting glance for him. Understandably enough. After all, he was little more than a black patch in her field of vision. A bitter, unseen smirk crept onto his face.

"_The Shadow Bandits, great train robbers of the century!"_

He turned to leave, still feeling Strago's eyes at his back. The others were already outside, and out of earshot. The old man spoke:

"I told the child her father had died. Goddesses help me, it would have been better if you had!"

He flung the words out, aiming to stab. Shadow silently let them dig into him. Then he walked out.


	3. Settling the Score

**A.N:** The burning house episode. I could never figure out while playing the game whether Shadow intentionally let Locke and Terra go on their own at first, or if he just didn't wake up when Strago came to fetch them. But he makes so much noise that I figured it made more sense if he heard him, but ignored him.

* * *

**_Settling the Score_**

He heard Strago arrive before Locke and Terra even stirred. His sleep had always been light, allowing for quick reactions in case of danger, but it was barely more than a doze that night. So he could wake the quicker when the nightmares came.

The front door of the inn slammed. Stumbling footsteps rushed up the stairs, stampeding into their room as the door was wrenched open.

"You've got to help! Relm...she's…" the old man panted, breathless from unaccustomed effort.

A clamber and a thump, as Locke jumped out of his bed.

"Something happened to Relm?" he mumbled, still disoriented from having been woken up in a rush.

Strago launched into some sort of incoherent gibberish, while desperately trying to catch his breath. But the words "house" and "fire" were quite enough to convey his meaning. There was a quick commotion, as Locke and Terra looked for their weapons. Then footsteps approached his bed, and someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Shadow!"

It was Locke's voice; but he merely turned on his side. He could almost feel Strago's eyes on him, infuriated and utterly panicked at the same time. Yet he pretended to sleep on, although he was fairly sure that Locke, at least, didn't buy it for one second.

(They're more than able to handle this by themselves. This is not my fight and not my place. Playing the hero won't get me anywhere. The child is better off forgetting I ever existed. The old man said it himself.

"_You bloody coward!"_

Yes, Baram, I am. But you knew that already.)

He tried not to think of her by name. He fancied it made the situation easier to handle. And he stayed put, stoically, listening to the retreating rush of the others. Interceptor whimpered and fidgeted by the side of the bed, and once again, he got the very distinct feeling that the dog cared more than he did. It didn't help that the animal eventually decided to run off as well, a few minutes later, despairing of eliciting any kind of reaction from his master. This proved to be too much for him to put up with. He attempted to call, but Interceptor was either out of earshot, or unwilling to comply.

The front door was ajar when he reached it, and he slipped outside, unnoticed. At some distance from the inn, the largest house of the village, the Betha family's home, was a blazing, howling inferno, and a shivering horde of villagers was massed outside, dark figures silhouetted against the conflagration. Dogs barking, shouts, children's cries.

"_Clyde!"_

He ignored it as best he could. Other dark outlines were approaching the crowd, just like him, and he overheard two of them talking. There was no recognizing the speakers though. The lurid light warped everything it touched.

"Oh, dear goddesses…Relm's still inside?"

"Well, the Bethas are all out front, with the others, so she must be. Old Magus went in with those strangers, but they haven't come out yet either."

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Fraz lifted the prohibition, so everyone did their best. But it didn't have any effect. This isn't a regular fire. Something must be fuelling it from inside."

(So Terra and Locke might need help after all. And the child…)

He didn't want to delve into the implications of his involvement. There was no time to lose.

Silence and speed were his specialty. No one noticed as he crept around the back of the house, another shadow dancing among the flames. One of the ground floor windows was still accessible, and he hauled himself in. The instant his feet hit the floor, a falling beam came careening down in a shower of hot ashes, and needle-sharp reflexes were his only saving grace. The house would not hold much longer.

The smoke was so thick that he shouldn't have been able to remain conscious more than a few minutes. Thankfully, his mask helped both to shield his eyes and to let him breathe. He picked his way through the debris to the nearest room, when a faint, hoarse bark reached his ears.

(Interceptor. I'm coming, pal.)

The dog had probably found them. At least, that's what he hoped.

The flames bellowed like a stampede of wild bulls, and the scorching air seared its way through his throat into his lungs. A half-collapsed doorway, remnants of furniture vanishing in bright flourishes. Bombs were roaming the rooms freely, soaking in the heat and steadily growing in size. He silently thanked the smoke for concealing him, but judging by how large some of the specimens were, it was a matter of minutes before the house disintegrated.

The barking grew louder. There, in the next small room on his left, they were all lying unconscious on the floor, and a flinching Interceptor was valiantly trying to ward off two approaching bombs. Sensing his master, the dog turned towards him and let out a yelp before collapsing like the others. One bomb seized the occasion to paw out at Terra, as the other one opened its large maw over the child.

A shuriken chopped the first bomb's limb clean off. Another lodged itself right in the second one's gut, gaining him some precious time. He hurried towards them, picking the child up and dragging Locke and Strago closer, so that they would all be in range of a smoke grenade, the only reliable means of escape. The characteristic hissing sound engulfed them. The moment the environs blurred out of sight, a bomb detonated in a nearby room.

They materialized safely on someone's lawn. As Shadow regained his bearings, a whole string of explosions, accompanied by shrieks in the crowd signified that he hadn't been a moment too early. He breathed a sigh, feeling the tension in his limbs relent, as he waited for the others to shake themselves awake.

He let his attention wander. It fluttered for an instant then settled on the child in his arms. Now that she wasn't running around or prattling off, she gave him a very different impression. When Strago had shoved her into his arms after she was born, half-angrily, half-desperately, all he could feel was utter bewilderment. It seemed like such a mistake. That tiny little being could not possibly have had anything to do with him. Judging by its cries for dear life, it didn't _want_ to have anything to do with him either. Or perhaps it could sense that its mother had died. Possibly both.

For four years he had tried to understand how he could possibly have the right to serve as an example for her. And he had concluded that he couldn't. Six more years of distance had done nothing to change that conclusion. But now, he felt something give way inside him, as if melting. He couldn't call it love. But for one instant, he felt… responsible.

(When all is said and done, she _is_ of me. No matter how it happened. I didn't ask for any of this. I just let myself drift straight into it. No doubt, that was my weakness. One of many.)

Her breathing was evening out, which was reassuring. He was about to reach out to smooth her hair, but the impulse surprised him, and he checked himself. Just then, a cough attracted his attention. Bewildered and a little disoriented, the others were coming back to their senses. Locke busied himself with helping Terra, while Strago pushed himself up on his arms, with some difficulty. Shadow didn't move, but met his gaze as calmly as he could, as it was coming back into focus.

(I've paid my debt, old man. The only way I could.)

A begrudging expression appeared in Strago's washed-out irises as he realized the situation. His thanks were silent.


	4. Dawn

**A.N: **And this is it: Shadow gives up and condemns himself to live with his ghosts, once again. But not without leaving something to remember him by. I always thought it was such a heartbreakingly simple gesture, him leaving that ring behind, without any indication.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed it.

* * *

**_Dawn_**

"_So, do you think it's a boy or a girl?"_

He never thought he would stand in this room again. But of course, he'd written off so many things under the heading of "never" in the course of his life. Never lie, never be poor, never steal, never get caught, never leave your best friend to bleed to death on a river bank, never get married, never have a child, never stand by helplessly as your wife dies in the next room, never abandon your daughter, never return where you're not wanted…

The room was much the same as he remembered it, only with the addition of paint tubes and splattered palettes littering the floor. There was a blank canvas standing in a corner, as well as a thick, half-open portfolio next to it. He noted cursorily that the child must have developed a talent for painting. It was a fact, little more. He didn't remember any such proclivities from when she was four. Iris didn't have any particular taste for painting either. And as for him...Shadows didn't have interests or feelings. Shadows didn't have pasts. He wished he could deserve his name better sometimes.

Strago was talking, explaining the situation, most likely. Nothing he didn't already know, so he didn't try to listen.

"_How do you like the crib? Isn't it lovely?"_

The child was sitting up in her bed, rested, recovered and back to her prattling self. That was all he needed to know. There was nothing else he could achieve here.

(Let them all live in peace. The Goddesses know they've already been through enough ordeals.)

He knew he shouldn't have disturbed this peace in the first place, but he hadn't realized it then. It was very tempting to say that everything had happened in spite of him. But he knew better now than to make that mistake again.

"Well, I do owe you one for saving Relm…I'll help you find your Espers."

Strago's words intruded on his thoughts. This he hadn't expected.

(So you're willing to put up with my presence out of gratitude for two complete strangers? Either you find some kind of grim enjoyment in torturing me, or…you love her more than I thought. More than I would be capable of, anyway…)

He looked over his shoulder and caught Strago's cold eyes retreating from his back to Locke and Terra. His own eyes drifted back to the flower vase on the small table next to him.

(It's as it should be. I didn't expect or need him to warm up to me. How could he? He can't forgive me, I can't forgive myself. It's too late now to offer apologies, even if I thought I had the right or the will to do so. I didn't have enough compassion to be a friend. Not enough love to be a husband. I can't raise a child with blood on my hands. There's just one thing I can do, old man: make this easier for you.)

No one was paying attention to him at that point. It was the perfect opportunity. But something stopped him momentarily as he turned to the door.

"_Here, this is for you. It's a charm of sorts…to keep you safe."_

The small pouch at his belt. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it earlier. He emptied its contents onto his palm. A small silver ring, set with a single opal, and some kind of prayer engraved on the inside of the band. His limited knowledge of runes had never allowed him to decipher it fully.

"_Wear this close to your heart. T__hat way I'll know my thoughts will always go with you…for what it's worth…"_

He had kept it out of elementary respect more than anything. He never did deserve to be in anybody's thoughts. Observing the ring for a moment, he pensively set it down on the table next to the vase.

(She needs this more than I do.)

He gestured quietly to Interceptor, and the dog's slight whimper reminded him of the morning mist. But he must leave again. Disappear. As shadows do at dawn. It was the only art he ever mastered.


End file.
